Breathe Again
by CynicalAuthoress
Summary: Between them, Meredith is nearly whole again.   Damon/Meredith/Stefan, Damon/Elena/Stefan, slight Meredith/Elena
1. Open up

Title: Breathe Again

Author: Bynamearose/CynicalAuthoress

Fandom: Vampire Diaries (book)

Rating: M

Pairing(s): Damon/Meredith/Stefan, Damon/Elena/Stefan, slight Meredith/Elena

Summary: _Between them, Meredith is nearly whole again._

Warning: Gore, Violence, Strong Language, Sexual Situations

Notes: Thanks to everyone in the shippers corner. You guys rock, and the amount of odd inspiration you give is an experience, to say the least.

Disclaimer: None of this is mine, although I can't imagine anyone objecting to the ownership of Damon or Stefan Salvatore.

–

_Open up, next to you and my secrets become your truth. _

_And the distance between that was sheltering me comes in full view._

* * *

The days of Fell's Church representing normalcy and childhood had been lost early.

The Wickery bridge, a place that Meredith can now remember most as death and fear and change, used to be a simple landmark, a passing in and out of town. Robert E. Lee used to be a palace, with Elena as queen, her court as fellow royalty, and the rest as on-lookers, subjects. Now, even after graduating, Meredith wonders if she was ever really there at all. She wonders how much of her mind stayed with her through vampires and werewolves and family history, as fuel to the fire. She wonders if she really made it through all of it, or if it's some psychotic breakdown in the making.

Everything in this town looks unrecognizable. She knew that the years would change it and the memories would paint it in dark, violent tones but it feels almost cold. It feels empty. If she were perfectly honest with herself, she'd never expected that.

Meredith doesn't wait long to find the cemetery. It's the only place she can think to go now, after Elena's death. She knows Bonnie and Matt have both been here several times but, after several years passed, she doesn't bother caring if they find her there.

The grave is simple and -unlike its inspiration – like every single other: a headstone with a few kind words of the dead and a few flowers – _lilies_, she notes – left to die. She remembers standing near here when Elena had her first "death." She remembers that naive hope that it wasn't true and well intentioned, pained whispers telling her it _was_. She remembers it vividly, and feels a bit of shame when eyes as green as oak leaves flash through her mind, and not blue.

Elena's body isn't there. It's one of the first things that pops into her mind. She did not rest _here_. Her body is gone, like the most unattainable of relics. Always being adored and lusted after, always far away and distant. It seems a ridiculous time to think about it but, either way, it makes her hands tremble and her eyes shut tight.

She doesn't cry.

She won't.

But it's the first time in years that she wishes she _could_.

* * *

She sees Aunt Judith and Margaret for the first time in years, also. It isn't by accident.

When Margaret opens the front door for her, she's nearly ten years old and looks like a miniature Elena, dark blue eyes and all. That tiny, angel-face is maturing, taking on that same regal, compelling look her sister had. Aunt Judith greets her with a hug and, stepping away from the door, wraps an arm around Margaret, who looks more curious than shy.

The last time Meredith was this close to her, they were running from Katherine's dogs. She honestly hopes Margaret doesn't remember her at all.

The older woman smiles warmly at her, inviting her in like there hasn't been heavy years between them all.

"Here," Aunt Judith offers, setting a cup of tea in front of her before she could protest.

"Thank you," she says politely, though the cup lays untouched.

"So, how was Duke?" Upon Meredith's look of confusion, she explains. "I heard from your parents that you graduated a few years ago."

"It was nice," Meredith isn't sure of what to say, but smiles forcefully, "...friendly."

She doesn't mention, for all that it's worth, that Elena had stopped to see her during that time. With Stefan's credit card, Elena had no qualms with flying from Italy to France and back - even on short notice. To her, this seemed to mean frequent trips to Duke and anywhere else in the Fairfax county that didn't make it past the mile-markers of Fell's Church.

The thoughts and memories sting like Margaret's large blue eyes and lilies on her grave. A few years after Elena's death, and it's all about pain and numbness. It was a simple process, like the rising and setting of the sun; now she felt pain, where she would later feel none.

* * *

"She doesn't seem to remember any of it," she confesses later, her eyes shut tight.

She doesn't look nearly as scattered as she feels, but the the light makes her shy away instinctively. It's too bright. It's so damn bright that she wants to board up the windows and never look back. Maybe even the doors, if she has the courage.

Hands tuck her dark hair behind her ears, and lips kiss the top of her dark hair.

"She won't," Stefan promises, his hand clasped around hers. "Her grief was left behind years ago."

"So was ours," Meredith responds, her words lacking the dry humor they once had.

She feels him stiffen behind her, and his hands slip away as he feels his own mourning and shame.

_Will we do this every day?_ she thinks, watching him retreat behind the patio doors. _Will we fight every step, every motion?_

Letting out a shallow breath, Meredith follows him. He sits, uncomfortably tense in the chair, and she sees the look on his face – the only look she can ever clearly name with one word. _Elena._ What follows is his own guilt and anguish, tripled by the years he's spent punishing himself for Katherine.

_It's not your fault._ She won't say it, not for the many times she already has.

She leans into him, arms wound around his neck.

His lips meet hers gently, hesitantly - until she deepens the kiss. She kisses him hard, emotions running on a tremendous, powerful high. She runs her hands through his dark, curly hair and he tugs her towards him until she's tight against his chest. They stay like that, unmoving, until the sound of a throat being cleared stops them in their embrace.

"Well, Meredith. I wasn't aware you'd returned."

* * *

A/N: Ugh. So conflicted as to where I wanted to end this chapter. However, it's posted, and what's done is done. Between all the Damon/Meredith/Stefan and Damon/Meredith/Elena talk that's been floating around the forums, I decided to put the kibosh on my previous D/M/S story (which has been the uncomfortable cause of much writer's block) and channel it into more of a collaborative story of ideas I had and ideas that pop into my head while I sort through the D/M corner.

Title/quote comes from Sara Bareilles' _Breathe Again_. Awesome song, guys. Pick it up, seriously.

Anyhow, hope you all enjoy. Don't be afraid to leave critique or praise – I don't bite, I promise ;)


	2. Crime and Punishment

Title: Breathe Again

Chapter Two: Crime and Punishment

Author: Bynamearose/CynicalAuthoress

Fandom: Vampire Diaries (book)

Rating: M

Pairing(s): Damon/Meredith/Stefan, Damon/Elena/Stefan, slight Meredith/Elena

Summary: _Between them, Meredith is nearly whole again._

Warning: Gore, Violence, Strong Language, Sexual Situations

Notes: Thanks to everyone in the shippers corner. You guys rock, and the amount of odd inspiration you give is an experience, to say the least.

Disclaimer: None of this is mine, although I can't imagine anyone objecting to the ownership of Damon or Stefan Salvatore.

* * *

Damon greets her with the same nonchalance he does everyone. He uses an unpredictable smile, and she has to remind herself that it's the same one that charms the innocence out of young girls. If she didn't know any better, she'd think it was only for her.

Meredith extracts herself from Stefan, her expression as determined and unaffected as she can possibly make it. "I'm standing here." Her lips are swollen with kisses and she's thankful that her olive skin hides any pink tinge she may have had. "Do you really need more proof?" It's a godawful response, she knows, but, at this point, she's just thankful the words come out.

The room feels smaller now, as he steps through the archway that separates the living room from the foyer. His movements are lithe – swift, and he sets a bottle of something expensive on the end table. Meredith can't be sure if he's planning to celebrate or drink himself into a stupor.

_Probably more along the lines of seducing some blonde haired, blue eyed tourist. _

"I suppose that would depend on what you're offering," Damon says, deceptively casual, but there's a leering hint to his voice that doesn't escape her notice. He'll take her surprise visit in stride, but his sparking dark eyes are keen for a source of amusement and, more than likely, a little torment. She's aware that if she leaves now, that knowing gleam in his eyes never will.

She isn't in the mood for a fight, but there's no question that it comes down to strength of will, how far either one of them will challenge it, and Meredith has no intention of turning away.

Damon, she knows, is a lover of good challenges, tries to find them in everything and everyone. And if a smaller challenge, one so trivial and slight that it might as well be playground mischief, would keep him from tearing into Stefan...well, that was enough.

Like the crow he did occasionally transform into, Damon had sharp claws - even sharper towards those closest to him.

His head tilts upwards just a bit more as he looks over both she and Stefan's mussed appearance.

"I see my brother has welcomed you back into our home with open arms."

Meredith won't show weakness to him, not like this. Not in Stefan's arms, and not while she's standing on her own two feet. "If you call stopping in every two weeks home," she says, smiling humorlessly, "then I think I can call it mine as well."

She feels Stefan shift from behind her.

As was routine, he's watching she and Damon with a mixture of disapproval and wariness. He's far from as on edge as he was in the beginning – Meredith and Damon trade sharp remarks like casual greetings - but, though he _knows_ they never will, things could turn spiteful in an instant. He's prepared to stop either of them from killing each other.

After a day like today, he's not sure whom to look at more closely.

"Touche," he acquiesced, nodding. "But you know better than I that people are usually at their happiest in their home." Damon smiled knowingly. There's something about the lift of his lips that sends shivers down Meredith's back, but Meredith keeps her dark eyes on his. _No weakness_, she thinks, but stares him down silently as he speaks his next words. "Tell me. Does Fell's Church still offer the same charms it used to, Meredith?"

Meredith feels herself tense, and her green-eyed champion speaks for her in a way that, in any other circumstance, might strike a nerve. Stefan is noble, and she appreciates it as well as she tries to show independence from it, but she knows anything he says will give Damon a victory.

"Damon," Stefan warns, with a firm hand on her shoulder. "That's enough. Please."

"If you insist, brother." The elder Salvatore merely shrugs. Damon smiles the most seductive smile she's ever seen, and it's like the stakes in this game have risen once again. "It's always a pleasure to have you home, Miss Sulez."

–

They reach the bottom of the stairs, Stefan tries to lead her across the hall, into the kitchen.

"Are you hungry?" he asks, his eyes flickering across the floor before meeting hers.

"No." Meredith shakes her head. "I'm pretty sure airline food and deli coffee haven't left my system yet. I can do without."

She takes Stefan's hand firmly in her own and leads him to the staircase.

Meredith tries not to mull over Damon's words – that usually led to nothing but turmoil, she knew – and catches a glimpse of Stefan's brooding expression. Somewhere in between his guilt and Damon's prods, she knows he's blaming himself. He's guilty and broken, and Meredith is tired of feeling both these things in the excess she has today.

She makes a decision to leave it behind.

Once they're up the stairs, she kisses him passionately, takes his bottom lip into her mouth and pulls. It feels good, his hesitance and release; it's a rhythm she's used to, a pattern she isn't keen to break. They slip into the first bedroom they see, or so Meredith thinks. It's a surprise when she realizes they've stumbled into an office – Damon's space, judging by the dark wood of the bookcases and the smooth curves of the desk carvings she knew he had a fondness for. She still hasn't been in every room of this house.

It's been years, but she still feels as though she's on borrowed time, with no place truly hers and not _Elena's_. It's a comfort and a curse that she's never felt more of her friend than when she's been in this house.

Meredith feels a heavy weight in her stomach when the thought occurs to her, but shrugs indifferently when Stefan looks down on her with tentative curiosity and smiles.

His smile is nearly everything Damon's isn't, so kind and careful that Meredith is almost afraid that it will break. She pulls him down to her, deliberately catching his mouth into a softer kiss than the one before, and his hand rests at the small of her back.

She is never sure how gentle to be – how the tides will turn within the two of them, but, by now, she's realized that he'll stay or leave with whatever piece of her doesn't break him entirely. It's not unusual, because she'd expected that from him. She had predicted it from the start. Who could blame him, when the two women he loved had slipped through his fingers? And who could mind, when they came together so easily?

Judging by the hardness against her hip, she doesn't think he'll be leaving anytime soon.

But, for the moment, they make-out like teenagers - not a inch that isn't touching - only stopping when Stefan reaches past her, gently pushing away the papers on the desk behind her. Meredith, feeling the rhythm between them change, starts with the buttons on his shirt. In the middle of her work, Stefan gently removes her hands. He steps away, out of reach, and Meredith can't quite tell what's coming next.

_If he leaves now_, Meredith thinks, cursing herself inwardly,_ I swear, I'll-_

She doesn't finish the thought and it doesn't matter because he doesn't leave.

Instead, he takes the bottom of her sweater between her fingers and Meredith, dazed but relieved, lifts her arms obligingly.

Stefan takes his time with her, kissing her neck, her shoulders, her collar bone, the tops of her breasts – until her bra is undone and his hands can roam where they please. He kisses down her stomach swiftly, nearly ticklish in his light movement, and watches her face while starting to unbutton her jeans. She chides herself for nearly losing herself in his eyes, but there's that feeling of unburdened desire in his movements that's almost emanating from him – like staring into the sky and wishing on stars – and keeps her watching.

His stare is a turn on, oddly, not because his hands still move or because it's some very _Stefan_ show of sincerity, but because she knows – right here, right now, it's just them. Elena is still there – in their hearts, behind their tired eyes - but this is _theirs_. This is, memories aside, whatever they make of it.

But his stare turns into glances as Meredith makes use of her own hands, removing his shirt.

She wants to move down to his pants, reaching for the buckle, but he looks so passionate, so intent as he tugs down her jeans until they glide off and onto the floor. His green eyes meet hers again when he notices her staring at him and he smiles softly, freely. It's then, clad in a pair of panties, that Meredith kisses him once more.

What Stefan lacks in momentum, he more than makes up for in thoroughness. Like natural instinct, he spreads her wider across the desk and pulls her closer to him. He kisses the exact spot where her jeans had hidden her stomach, then down her legs, the backs of her knees and up again. Meredith closes her eyes when she feels his lips on the inside of her thighs, moving upward. She feels his fingers pull at the fabric of her underwear and his breath ghost over her and her hands clutch at the top of the oak desk.

Then, his mouth is on her, working her into gasps and sighs. She tangles her fingers into his dark, curly hair and barely registers her head falling back into the desk, hard. His hand takes its usual place along her stomach, to hold her still as he works her. He's a tease, but only for as long as he can manage.

When she comes, she comes with his mouth on her clit and his name on her lips. But that's all of him that is on her, and therein lies the problem. She pulls him up to her, urging his face to hers and she kisses him, tastes herself on his lips. She wants him – all of him – for as long he can spare his grief, their grief. And maybe because, somewhere in their sorrow, he'll let her sink deeper and follow him blindly into the dark.

Her hands crawl across his chest and stomach and she smiles coyly when his eyes close. She manages to touch her toes to the ground, reminding herself of a ballet dancer as she works his belt open. They turn, Stefan now with his back against the desk, and Meredith silently musing how her life had changed.

_We do have an interesting dance here, don't we?_ Meredith thinks, wondering whether Elena felt this...sense of lightness as well. _We change partners like each dance is not the same._ When Stefan's eyes flash open she wonders, momentarily, if she'd spoken aloud, and if he felt the same. _Maybe it never is._

Gently, she pushes him backward against the desk and straddles him. There's barely an inch where they aren't connected; her breasts brush against his chest, his hands glide along her hips. Stefan raises one of his hands to pull her face closer and Meredith's hair plays shadows across their faces.

–

There was a saying Meredith had heard once once or twice about the brightest flame burning half as long and, as far as post-coital went with Stefan Salvatore, that saying certainly applied. He'd kiss her, stroke her hair, murmur the loving clichés every girl wanted to hear, and laugh softly when Meredith told him as much. But he never lasted long, never gave into it longer than his mind could rest. She could feel the sick tension of his arms, and see the look in his eyes that said numerous things, among them, "I'm sorry." and "I can't do this."

He rises, dresses with his back to her, and, whether it's unintentional or not, Meredith doesn't say a word.

She sits on the edge of the desk and holds his shirt in her hands, barely resisting the urge to toss it in the garbage as she notices a few buttons missing (her messy handiwork, of course). Stefan eventually makes his way to her, his polite nature overcoming whatever emotion was driving him away, and he politely kisses her on the cheek before he pulls on his shirt, buttoning what he can, and leaves. Meredith doesn't know whether to laugh or scream.

She settles with running her hands through her long, dark hair and sighing.

Meredith dresses eventually, slipping her shoes on just as she hears Stefan's footsteps disappear. Her bag, she realizes, is in Stefan's room – she put it down just before they'd gone downstairs - and resolves to change that once she's sure the room she normally stayed in was the same. She's had a horrible couple of days, and, though she's sure it hasn't, the last thing she needed to find out was that the guestroom she had become so accustomed to so long ago, the one Stefan told her to call her own, had turned into some kind of library while she was gone.

For the first time that day, though it's hollow and ridiculous, Meredith closes her eyes, leans back against the wall, and laughs.

"I forget, sometimes, how fickle my brother can be towards the women he loves."

The voice is light, soothing, but deceptively so. Meredith opens her eyes to Damon's mockingly handsome face, but he is instead staring down the hall, where Stefan had left her sight moments ago. She shrugs, determined not to urge him on.

But, he needs no other influence for that. Because, though he would deny it, the urge to include Stefan was never anyone else's; for as much as Damon hated him, that was his.

"We both know my little brother is off to punish himself." Damon's lips curve upwards, like he's amused by his brother's remorse and a strange, routine sort of way, Meredith knows, he is. "He will never forgive his own sins, like a _true_ lapsed Catholic." Then, like her, he shrugs and faces her. "And he leaves behind his fellow sinners."

"It's not..." Damon's eyes bore into her, and Meredith shuts her eyes to keep from meeting his gaze. "It's about us. It's about her." Meredith crosses her arms over her chest as he listens. He's less than a foot away, invading her space in a way that could only stand now and she just doesn't have the energy to fight. "We both want what we can't have."

"And yet he is the one punishing himself for it," Damon

"He's the only one that still thinks he can walk away from it."

Meredith does meet his eyes this time. And there's a look there – one that surprises her, makes her stand exceptionally still, choke like her breath is still caught in her lungs – that she's never seen from him so clearly before. It changes quickly. Tenderness, frustration, acceptance; his expression is full of extremes and yet disappears before she can even define them all.

He's close enough to kiss her, her lips that were still fresh with the taste of his brother. She'd be lying if she said it wasn't in her mind, in her veins, like his brother was. She thinks he's going to kiss her, and she vows that she won't initiate it, not this time.

Until, that is, he removes his hands and simply walks away.

Damon walks in the opposite direct of Stefan, his hands in the pocket of his jeans, and Meredith thinks that, as a rare occurrence, maybe she's won this round. Damon, quiet and leaving, with no challenge left. There's a strange flicker of disappointment at the idea, until he abruptly speaks again, still making his way down the corridor.

"Do you think one can desire too much of a good thing, Miss Sulez?"

She catches the reference, and doesn't bother to protest whether she or Stefan or Damon – she can't even tell who they're talking about now – are good. Good enough to desire. Good enough to dance together in the light of a dead woman.

She knows the end to this story, has seen it play out in front of her with uncontrollable circumstance and heartbreak.

Instead, Meredith shakes her head. "Why don't you ask Elena?"

He stops and she can see his shoulders tense, his inability to swallow her name. It seemed like a lifetime before he turned to answer her. "I suspect _you_ would know her answer better than anyone."

* * *

Okay, I'll admit it.

This fanfic has needed updating...well, basically forever, and I've just been incredibly lazy.

Sorry for the wait!


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